


Calamity 9

by Kingshammer



Category: Power Rangers (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Space, F/F, but all the nods to the Power Rangers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-11-28 04:31:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20960513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kingshammer/pseuds/Kingshammer
Summary: Kimberly Hart's luck isn't the best. But the idea of bad luck isn't so bad when the alternative is the universe hating you.Bad luck was preferable. Bad luck always had the chance to turn good. That’s the beauty of luck. But if it’s the universe gunning for you?Inevitability is a bitch.





	1. On Edge

1 

Kimberly had terrible luck. It wasn't an assumption anymore, but a true, empirically supported fact. 

Because if bad luck _ wasn’t _ to blame for the fact that she was currently limping as rapidly as she could manage down a hallway packed with panicking Port dwellers fleeing to the bays in the wake of an invading force of _ something _ , then it meant that the universe actually _ did _ hate her. 

She'd been on the fence about it for years. Different events sparked the debate: her father not making it off Earth, getting kicked out of the Academy, the failed engine on the Corsair ship Triskelion. She’d needed it all to be bad luck, and not the universe. 

Because in a reality where humanity's last representatives lived at the mercy of the literal universe in the most intimate of ways? 

Well. 

Bad luck was preferable. Bad luck always had the chance to turn good. That’s the beauty of luck. But if it’s the universe gunning for you? 

Inevitability is a bitch. 

And so were flesh wounds, Kimberly thought miserably to herself as she was jostled mercilessly by the pulsing throng of bodies. 

And boy if it wasn’t turning into a season for flesh wounds. 

/ 

Kimberly's week started out as it usually had for the last five years she’d lived at Andromeda Port. She’d pulled on her oil stained coveralls and boots after a lukewarm shower and, nursing a slight hangover, shoveled some breakfast slop down her throat before reporting to the ship yard. 

“Yard” was largely metaphorical as the ships that docked in Andromeda Port were tethered by little more than fuel and resource lines, waste drain tubes, and climate and atmospherically controlled tunnels for passengers to travel in and out of the Port. 

Andromeda Port was isolated in a slice of space called the Edge and was, therefore, immense, as it took weeks to get to the next port, colony, or planet, making it a popular spot for anyone that took a shine to drifting around the known edge of the final frontier. 

Kimberly's place in the floating hunk of metal? Unusually skilled engine mechanic and resident pain in the ass. The former helped cover for the frustrations caused by the latter. 

The yard manager, Keith, growled that she was late when she walked in. She’d casually flipped him off as she went to don her orbiting suit at her locker. 

(She was glad that humanity had not allowed the simple, yet effective, gesture to be forgotten along with so many of Earth's other customs when the planet had been laid waste and ultimately abandoned.) 

The exchange with Keith was normal for them. He didn’t like her, she didn’t like him. But, he paid well and on time and she really was an excellent mechanic. They could both do worse, and so they tolerated one another. 

The only notable change in the routine had been the arrival of an C-Class International Space Coalition Freight Cruiser. The International Space Coalition, or ISC, was Earth's answer to the desire and necessity to explore, and ultimately inhabit, space. They'd started out under the supervision of the old United Nations. They were scientific in origin, its members explorers at heart and in practice. 

But then First Contact happened. And suddenly humanity learned they weren’t the only carbon based species in the universe. And almost overnight (but really over the span of a few centuries), the ISC became the leading military, political, and societal representation of Earthlings in space. 

And when Earth was finally rendered uninhabitable? ISC colonies and ports became home away from home, the organization itself the only authority for Earth left standing. 

The point? The ISC had a number of different types of ships in its fleet. They served varying purposes. The C-Class Freight Cruisers were hybrid class ships. They operated in and out of atmospheric conditions and were used when items needed to get from one location to another swiftly. The military branch of the ISC, the Legion, managed and operated all ships used by the ISC. 

Kimberly should’ve realized the ship’s presence in the Port was a harbinger of change; seeing it caused a swell of all sorts of nostalgia. But more than anything, she was just in a little bit of awe. 

She took the assignment for the ship without thinking, wanting to be close to the rarity. She claimed their repair requests from Keith and finally, _ finally _, found herself pulling her way across the tether line that was the only thing keeping her attached to anything in space. 

Closer inspection of the cruiser told her the ship was odd indeed. First, it was dirty, its markings faded. That immediately told Kimberly it wasn't in the ISC fleet, at least not anymore. Their ships were immaculate, pristine. This one had gouges and scrapes along its hull, scuff marks of struggles past. 

It wasn’t until Kimberly arrived at the ship's designation near the rear of the hull by the engines, that her heart leapt to her throat though. 

There was newer paint, obviously handwritten, that named the ship Calamity 9 over the original ship serial number. That was more than enough to reassure Kimberly this ship was now, though it was rare, privately owned. The Legion would’ve referenced it by its original number, not an actual name. 

The name wasn't what hooked her attention though. That honor belonged to the faded American flag beneath the name and the words _ Angel Grove, CA, USA _in neat letters under the flag. Unexpected tears and long buried memories sprung up and were just as quickly interrupted. 

“Hart, you just gonna stare at it? Get moving,” chimed Keith's voice in her head set. She sniffed deeply and didn't grace the boss man with a response. Time was still money (or really, credits), and Kimberly knew she had work to do. 

But damn if she wasn't simultaneously gripped with the urge to hide from and interrogate the crew that manned this ship. 

The ship should've been the clue. The fact it had ever been associated with the ISC was strange enough because they just didn't come out to Andromeda Port. The Port was in the Edge, neutral space territory controlled only by its inhabitants, and not by any of the races that lived in space. 

More than that? Ships that have your hometown _ printed _ on their _ hulls _ don't just wander into the Port you’ve been tucked away at for five years. Especially considering that very few ships were even manufactured on Earth by the end and even carried hometown identifiers. 

But Kimberly had long since given up looking for clues. She’d learned not to hope, or wonder, and so with an iron grip, she shoved her memories back, deep down and far away. 


	2. One Fish, Two Fish

Kimberly worked for hours on the Calamity.  The work order only called for engines, but she gave all of the external ship components attention. She couldn’t help it, she wanted to spend time with the ship. She was a little sorry to see that most of the components needed some work. Whoever used the ship ran her hard. Dismay swirled in her as she replaced loose wiring and thinning metal. The ship wasn’t the newest and wasn't getting nearly the amount of tender, loving care Kimberly felt it deserved. And it was a cargo ship; or at least a mostly a cargo ship. All ISC ships had the capability for defense. But this one had the damage she’d expect on a Legion fighting vessel.

It wasn’t until she got to the life support systems that she felt a warm swell of pride in the poor thing.

She almost hadn’t touched the system, but she worked off the exterior cover plate to expose its internal vents and radiating cores. It alone was running as though it had just been installed. She smiled, a small sad smile, at the tiny name etched into a metal plate that was soldered to the housing of the system.

_ Hart Industries _

Her great, great grandfather had fought tooth and nail against any kind of manufacturer’s stamp on industry products. It was enough for him to know that it was his company’s technology that was making deep space exploration possible and safe. Earth was just starting to make forays into space, but ships couldn’t venture farther than a week’s travel time away. The ships couldn’t sustain life for longer. 

Until Hart Industries developed a system that made it possible. It was then that alliances began to form with the ISC and other species and eventually, when larger structures could be manufactured and maintained, ports and colonies began to emerge and scatter throughout space. That particular Hart was just proud to be part of the dream.

But the corporate board had insisted, talking about things like branding and recognition. And the tiny name plates were the compromise.

At least, that’s how Kimberly got the story. Her father always told it with a wondering, far off look in his eyes. Like he was thinking of untold possibilities and just the sheer potential of the universe. Kimberly was too young to appreciate that sentiment at the time. And now she was too jaded to really care about possibilities.

In a sudden sickening, awful moment, Kimberly considered what her parents might think of her if they could see what her life had become. And then she scowled. They weren’t around to have an opinion, where they? 

Kimberly replaced the life support paneling and moved on.

The  C a lamity’s a tmospheric components (the system that allowed it to operate within the atmospheric conditions consistent with planet surfaces and skies)  had been  recently  overheated and fried doing god-knows-what, although she suspected getting to space had meant salvation for this crew. The damage wasn’t unheard of, not if ships were used in any type of military operations. But for a ship  _ not _ in the ISC fleet anymore? It was nothing short of strange.

She worked until she was done and for once didn't have a quip for Keith. She  shucked  and stored her  orbit  suit , checking for first for wearing or warping, pulled on her coverall up to her waist, tied her boots,  and left without a word to anyone , melancholy and nostalgia weaving themselves through her mind.

There'd been a time when any ISC ship was almost like a home for her. She knew the ins and outs of them all.  For one, her father worked for Hart Industries, continuing to develop better life support systems, and he’d exposed her to the ships from the time she was still in diapers. For another, she was an Academy student. At that point, it became grades as well as her family’s reputation to consider.  She was a Hart. Space travel was in her blood.

But it had been years since she’d been aboard one of those ships. Years since she’d been permitted to be. Hell, she’d probably be arrested if she tried to enter an  _ actual  _ ISC ship now . If they could figure out who she was, at least.

She was lost in thoughts about her childhood and adolescence , letting her feet carry her on auto pilot ; and so, she didn’t hear the steps that came up behind her. She did, however, feel the hard shove that sent her stumbling forward down the dimly lit corridor . She whipped around, glaring. Skull glared right back , the shadows of the hall obscuring his features slightly, making them appear sharper, more twisted.

“You owe me creds, Hart,” he snarled  quietly.  She squared up, fingers curling into fists.

“I don’t owe you shit Skull. Not my fault you don’t know how gambling works,” she replied coldly. It’d been three days since she’d seen Skull and when she’d left him last, he’d been sitting in a chair across a card table with disbelief slackening his features; the shock seemed to have finally worn off.

“Cut the act.  That game wasn’t the least bit fair,”  he drawled, lip  curling nastily . “I have it on good authority you have an  _ in  _ with that dealer.”

Kimberly just scowled at his inflection. She frequented a card room on the port when she had extra credits. The booze was decent and the scenery pleasant enough. But guys like Skull  (sore losers with a violent streak)  liked to go too. 

“I didn't cheat Skull,” she replied. She was realizing too late that they were in a less frequented part of the  p ort. Somewhat isolated and not entirely safe. A part of  the p ort where people were experts at ignoring sounds of a struggle and had minding their own business down to an art form.

“Maybe you didn't on purpose. Doesn’t mean the dealer didn't help you out anyway. Who knew Annie Hart was so good at licking pussy?” he snarled. 

_ Well shit _ , Kimberly thought. She  _ hadn’t  _ cheated and  Kat  had been  _ incredible  _ in bed. But  Kat  would never risk her job over a great lay and Kimberly would never dream of asking her to. But Skull knowing they'd shacked up would never allow him to believe she had won fairly. Just her fucking luck.

“Tell you what, you give me back three times my buy-in, and I don't report either of you to the room manager,” he continued , taking a slow step forward . His pale face was twisted in arrogant satisfaction. He had his long, oily tresses smoothed back from his face. Kimberly just scowled.

“Those games are all monitored. If anyone had been cheating, they'd know already,” Kimberly snapped, impatient.

“Sure, but a little bit of doubt goes a long way. I don't think the manager would like knowing she likes to hook up with the players. Ain't really that kind of room,”  Skull responded, seeming extremely pleased with himself.

“You realize she was just a  hook up right?  We’re not seeing one another.  I'm not giving you anything. Tell the house what you want,” she replied.

“ Oh you are a cold bitch huh? I mean, I'd heard that, but  I’m honestly a little surprised the rumors are true.  So fine, I tell the house.  But  I still want the creds,” he said with a shrug.

“ Are you stupid? Or just not listening? It’s  _ n _ _ ot _ happening Skull.”

“Then I’ll just take it out of you,” he growled. He pulled a crude blade from his belt under his jacket.  It was old metal paneling, the handle part wrapped repeatedly in electrical tape. The metal was sharpened, with notches near the crude hilt to act as serration. 

Kimberly grit her teeth. She was decidedly unarmed. 

“Skull, I'm not sticking around for this, okay? I'll see you at the tables. Win your creds back,” Kimberly replied as confidently as she could . She managed three steps back toward the corridor intersection before her back collided with something large and sweaty. She  spun  around , and was forced to look up, and up,  to see Bulk's lopsided smile.

“Hey Annie,” he grunted , voice like shifting gravel . 

“Fuck,” Kimberly whispered , backing away . She angled  herself  so Skull was on her left, Bulk to her right.

“Payback’s a bitch,” hissed Skull. Kimberly didn’t respond, just glared, her gaze shifting between them.

“Last chance. You can complete the transfer in seconds on your Cuff . ” He said this with a  small shake of his left hand, indicating his own Cuff. The devices  functioned for communication, information sharing and searching, and asset management , among other features.  Transferring credits was as simple as entering the amount and the recipient ’ s Cuff code.

“You’ll have to try harder than that,” she replied. With a mean smile, he lunged,  apparently done talking,  swinging his knife around to her side.

Kimberly moved smoothly to meet him. Her left palm blocked his right forearm and she slid her hand down until she  covered his hand over the knife. She pointed the knife away and pulled his arm down, following the momentum of the turn, slamming the heel of her right palm  up into the underside of his jaw, snapping his head back. She shoved him away from her then, into the opposite wall.

It was against her better judgement to leave him with the knife; all her training and instincts screamed  _ disarm, Hart, disarm _ _ ! _ But she needed to disengage and –

Bulk's bellow echoed in the corridor as his shovel - sized fist slammed into her gut. She felt her feet leave the ground before she slammed into the hard metal floor completely winded and retching.

There was a  p ort fight league, one which Kimberly watched , on occasion,  and  in which  Bulk participated. Much of it was theatrics for entertainment’s sake ,  but Bulk was a crowd favorite.

Kimberly scrambled to push herself away with her heels. It was no good. Bulk's huge hands clamped around her neck in a bruising grip and jerked her to her feet.

She didn’t panic. Bulk was a scary - big guy. But this wasn’t her first dance by a long shot. And he'd left her hands free.

So  she jabbed her fingers in his eyes before  grabbing one of his ears and twisting for all she was  worth.

He howled and his grip slackened. Hers didn’t and his head followed his ear and her hand down. Feeling the  floor  under her  feet  again, Kimberly lifted her  booted  heel and slammed it into the inside of Bulk's right knee. He hit the ground instantly, screaming and clutching at the ruined joint.

She’d feel worse for him , knowing she cost him work, if she didn’t already feel bruises on  her  neck.

Her respite from Bulk was short lived; a slightly recovered Skull charged at her wildly , incensed .  S he earned a cut across her forearm to spare her face as she took quick steps back to get out of his range.

Loathe though she was to admit it, she was rusty for a weapons  bout . She’d never been a slouch in a fight but it’d been a long time since someone had come after her like this. She dodged cuts and rewarded Skull’s errant limbs with a punch or elbow when she could slip one in.

She was pouring sweat and exhausted when he finally  just gave up trying to cut her and simply tackled her to the ground.

Kimberly wrapped two hands  around the one that held the blade as she struggled against his weight and attempts to plunge the weapon into her chest.

“Roll over and  _ die already, _ ” Skull snarled savagely , eyes wide, expression manic . He pulled back a fist threw it at Kimberly’s face. She jerked her head to the side, letting it glance past with minimal damage, but it was enough distraction. Skull ripped the knife away, and straddling her waist and wrapping two hands around the hilt, he pulled the knife up, preparing to slam it back down.

Only the blow never landed. 

A snapping, crackling sound erupted in the hallway. Kimberly looked up to see a small box arcing a purple current of electricity held in a small hand shoved against the side of Skull’s neck. He  seized, and then  slackened immediately before being shoved to the side off of Kimberly.

Kimberly stared up wide eyed at the woman she found  standing in the hall with her.

“That didn’t look like a fair fight,”  t he  woman  commented mildly, utterly calm, looking at Skull with distaste. Kimberly shook her head and scrambled to her feet.

“Are you fucking insane?” she  gasped , getting  up at last . The woman looked taken aback. She had long brown hair braided back at the temples, the  rest controlled to be out of her face by a yellow beanie . Her shirt was the slightly oversized, long sleeved, off white homespun variety that was more for comfort and practicality than anything else. Her pants were tighter, combat ready, tucked into well worn boots that had the tread replaced on them more than once. A belt was strapped to her waist and Kimberly was sure there was a pistol there, among a number of pouches and what was obviously a holster for the fucking stun gun in her hand.

“I think you meant to say ‘thank you’,” the woman replied slowly , dark brown eyes narrowed at Kimberly. She was shorter than Kimberly, but looked fit and stocky; more than capable of holding her own.

“Do you have any idea of what you’ve done?” Kimberly asked, aghast. Blood was trickling down her cut arm, past her fingers, and slowly dripping to the floor.

“What ? Y ou mean save your ungrateful ass?” the woman snapped.

“First off, I was fine . ”  A lie, and they both knew it. “Second, you used a weapon with an exposed power current.  _ Highly  _ against the law on the  p ort,” Kimberly replied angrily.

“Against the law? Are you mad,  we’re on the Edge, there are no laws out here,” the woman snapped back. Kimberly rolled her eyes.

“Spoken like a true Drifter. There are rules, and the one you broke is big.  Port Guard will be up my ass about this,” Kimberly muttered darkly.

“He had a  _ knife _ !  I was trying to help,” the  woman gasped in exasperation.

“Well next time keep your help to yourself,” Kimberly snarled before walking away , leaving the other woman rooted to the spot caught between rage and indignation.  She spared the brunette one last scowl, kicked a still whimpering Bulk unconscious and stalked away to her tiny room.

/

Kimberly had  planned to go to the mess for food but the new cut on her arm vetoed that. So now she was tired , hungry ,  _ and  _ injured . 

Food could be solved by a spare power bar in her room. She cleaned out the cut, grimacing as the disinfectant from her small first aid kit burned the injury. She knew it could be far worse. Some bruising and a cut were a small price to pay considering Bulk and Skull’s efforts. Especially when the alternative was a slit throat. Now she at least knew they were coming for her, their element of surprise lost.

Life was brutal on the Edge. Some might protest her murder, but if Skull could suggest some perceived injustice, her death would likely be ultimately ignored. Port Guard maintained order to prevent widespread anarchy and to preserve the safety of the port’s structure. But they let the citizens largely govern themselves. Kimberly was used to it by now. She was used to hard living and hard choices and the almost savage cost of survival. 

But it was the price of freedom. 

She might be killed over a card game; but no one knew her real name, where she’d come from, or what she’d done, and even better? No one cared to find out. 

She thought again of what her parents would think of this existence she’d carved out for herself. She was more tired than she had been earlier, working on the Calamity. And so this time, when their faces floated out from her memory to the forefront of her mind, she allowed herself to accept that they’d probably be pretty sad. And for the first time in over a decade, the thought actually bothered her.

She stowed the first aid kit under the bed and pulled out a small, worn envelope. It’d been some years since she’d opened it, but the weirdness of the day drew her to it. 

It only contained two things. A photo, with a note on the back, and a length of cord, with black and pink strands braided tightly together. Without thinking too hard about it, Kimberly wrapped the cord around her wrist, securing it with the loops built into the ends.

She looked at the picture closely. It was one of her parents, and her. She was barely a toddler in the picture, balancing precariously with stubby legs on a picnic blanket. Her parents sat side by side, faces alight with adoration and mirth. Her father’s arm was around her mother’s shoulders and she leaned into him. The black and pink cord was wrapped around her wrist.

The sky was blue, a rare, clear day. They’d had to drive hours to get away from true developments. The grass was green and there were trees in the background. Kimberly lost herself in the photo, remembering what it was like to feel the sun and breeze. Remembering the Earth when it was whole, when her family was whole.

Not really sure why, except for maybe a desire to keep them close, Kimberly clutched the photo to her chest and eased back. Maybe her parents would be sad for her, maybe they’d be disappointed. But then, maybe they’d understand too, what it  took to survive when very little seemed to go  your way.

She lay in her bed, remembering, and stared at the dark metal ceiling until finally, she fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!! I really appreciate your feedback :)
> 
> Quick note: I know the exact timeline is still a little wishy washy at this point. That's on purpose and it'll be firmed up as we go along. 
> 
> Also, please let me know if you spot any errors. I'm sure I missed some. If you find them, they're all me. Thanks again!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading to this point!
> 
> The idea of a Power Rangers Space AU has been in my head forever and it finally shaped itself into something resembling a story.
> 
> This is basically what happens when Power Rangers gets combined with troupes from just about every space story you can think of. Some references are more overt than others. It started out as a Titan A. E. AU, but really became something else. At any rate...
> 
> I OWN NOTHING! No rights to anything, Power Rangers related or otherwise. 
> 
> Also, I should mention I've never written sci-fi like this before. The goal is to do a little bit of world building as the story goes along. That being said, I know nothing about actual science, (particularly as it applies to outer space), except that the mitochondria is the power house of the cell. And even that won't help me here. So roll with it?
> 
> I welcome your feedback and suggestions.


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